


What's Forever? (oneshots)

by UnholyHelbig



Series: What's Forever? [1]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/F, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2020-12-24 22:23:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21106973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnholyHelbig/pseuds/UnholyHelbig
Summary: A series of oneshots dedicated to turned Vampires Chloe Beale and Beca Mitchell raising their children in the 21st century.(This started out as something small, but as people kept requesting stories, I decided to put them all here in this book!)





	1. Immortal Conversations

**PROMPT: Beca and Chloe are called into a parent-teacher conference for one of their kids? **

**Beca thumbed the **key in her left hand like it was keeping her afloat in a rocky sea. She couldn’t’ tell where the metal ended and where her sweaty palm began anymore. It was all one, a nervous habit that made her want to scoff and throw it into the ocean, or a tall field of grass that swayed in the wind.

She was 256 years old, for fuck's sake, something as little as this shouldn’t’ have her stomach in knots. It was a simple parent-teacher conference, one that the superintendant had called her specifically to arrange yesterday morning. It was abrupt, but the man explained that he needed them both there. Chloe took a long lunch from the hospital, and Beca sat in her car with the engine shut off and the key in her hand. 

Beca had fought wars, she had trudged through mud and slick ice had pushed past the fear of death and outlived hundreds. Outshined the hunger that always nagged at the back of her throat, threatening to resurface the minute someone got a papercut or slammed their hand too hard in a car door. But she had never been a mother- not until fifteen years ago when they adopted Florence.

She was well behaved, her teaches having nothing but rave reviews about her posture, and how into gothic literature she had become. Her nose was always in a book, and when it wasn’t, she was charming and smart, and Beca never thought any less of her. Certainly, _never _spurring an early morning summons by an English teacher that Beca had yet to meet.

Three sharp knocks to her window pulled a sharp breath into her lungs, dark eyes flashing over to the woman leaning up against the side of her truck. A mused look on that immortally entrancing face. Beca thought the turn of the century fit Chloe well- every era did, but this was one of her favorites, she had decided. Her hair pulled up in a curly bun and suit jacket removed to show a silky purple blouse. She never got tired of those crystal eyes, or the way she smiled- especially around their youngest.

“You’d think you would hear me coming a mile away,” Chloe said the second the door creaked open, Beca met with the slight chill that early October carried. 

“My love, I regret to inform you that I’m catatonic when I’m thinking too hard.”

Chloe let out a grunt at that, but she understood. Never interrupting Beca when her thoughts ran wild, if not to set a cup of scalding tea in front of her, or to finally pull her to bed because even those without a beating heart needed to rest at some point.

The taller of the pair started walking towards the looming building. Beca could already smell the macaroni art and cheap juice that they poured into plastic cups. Delia would come home with an orange rim around her mouth that made her bounce off the walls, the school not concerned with the gas they put in the engine.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Chloe soothed, pondering herself “There’s nothing we can’t handle that we haven’t before.”

“Please, Florence was an absolute saint at this age. Are we even sure she’s ours?”

“Positive, dear. She just takes after me.”

Beca drew in a breath to protest but let the comment hang in the air. She pulled the door to the elementary school open and followed her wife with her head held high. She remembers a therapist in the 80’s telling her to practice confidence without defense. Something she still struggled with thirty-six years later.

The woman behind the desk was stout. She had a pretty face with kind features, wearing a bright blouse that worked for her in all the right ways. She stood the second she saw Chloe, like old friends. She never understood how her wife did it- keeping up appearances and working a full-time job at the hospital.

“Mrs. Beale,” She beamed “And you must be Mrs. Mitchell”

She took the woman’s hand and shook it with a smile. This was progress. Not that Beca hadn’t interacted with people before, hadn’t charmed her way through casinos and past the nastiest of threats, but somehow this was different. It made her _nervous._

The woman had them sign in on a sheet of paper with the time next to it before sending them to the small waiting room that had out of date magazines and the sounds of flutes playing from a speaker hidden somewhere in the corridor. Everything felt out of date, the metal chairs digging into her back as Chloe grasped one of those magazines and flipped through the pages. Beca crossed her arms over her chest and stared ahead.

“What do you think it’s about?”

“Maybe she’s doing so well they wanted to commend you on your control and flawless parenting style.” She flipped the page.

“Funny. But really, what do you think she did?”

Chloe let out a thick sigh, leaning forward to place the magazine on the coffee table before turning to her wife with a tender look on those delicate features. Even just a slight glance washed a wave of comfort over her like a shiver. “Beca, whatever it is, we will deal with it. Delia has a bit of that same spark that you do, it will undoubtedly but her into hot water more than once. But that’s who she is- who you are. You’ll both be fine.”

Beca furrowed her brow and stared for a minute, scanning Chloe’s features and mulling over the words she had left out in the open like this. From the minute Delia was born, Beca knew that she would be a handful- Hell, she was one herself. But it was a different time, certainly not one filled with parent-teacher conferences.

“Chloe,” A man walked into the waiting room. They both stood hastily, a bit of doubt even creeping into her wife’s confidant gaze. “And I assume you’re Beca? I don’t’ think we’ve had the pleasure. Not in person anyway.”

He was younger than Beca was expecting, maybe two or three years out of school. He had tried shaving this morning, cutting his chin and exposing a dot of red to the world. His collar was stained with the scent. Clumsy and unruly but exactly how she assumed he would appear. His hair curly and brown and his shirt untucked.

“Please, follow me”

Chloe lifted a brow at her wife before doing as she was told. They ended up in a conference room with a long table- only occupying the far end. Mr. Ramone sat at one side of the table while Chloe and Beca took camp at the other. There was an odd silence that filled the room.

“I’m sorry for all the theatrics,” He explained, spreading his fingers against the tabletop. “But there was a matter I wanted to discuss with the both of you about Delia.”

“Is she in trouble?” Beca asked, Chloe, placing her hand on her knee. “You sounded serious on the phone.”

“Not necessarily, Mrs. Mitchell, I don’t’ want you to worry too much. She’s just displaying a habit that we would like to get ahead of before it gets worse, with your permission, of course.” His chair creaked under his shifting weight. “Delia seems to have developed a biting problem.”

There was a thick silence in the room that enveloped all three of them. Beca could hear his heart pounding, and the coffee machine that was a few rooms over. The secretary that welcomed them in was playing Solitaire on her browser- and Chloe was suddenly giggling uncontrollably.

Beca stared at her, mouth ajar, and so did Mr. Ramone. A little more reserved but eyebrows raised. They waited for her to finish, snorting as she struggled to gain control. “No, no, I’m sorry- I’m listening, I just… continue, please.”

“Okay,” He sounded out the word. “Like I was saying, she hasn’t bitten down hard enough to break skin yet. But we don’t want it to escalate to that.”

Ramone slid a paper over to the two of them. One that Beca took possession. Chloe grinning like a jester as she looked over the girl's shoulder. There were a couple of books on how to get a child to stop biting and different methods that they can try.

“we have people here specifically trained to quell this too.” He said, glancing at Chloe as she pressed her fingers against her lips to hold back a building laugh. “But we usually let the parents try their own methods first.”

Beca nodded “Thank you, Mr. Ramone. We’ll get right on this, right Chloe?”

“Yeah, yes.” She nodded innocently. “Thank you for calling this to our attention.”

Chloe had waited until they got all the way back to let another outburst escape her lips, tears in her eyes as she chuckled to herself. Beca was not able to stifle her own smile. “Chloe this isn’t funny. She clearly learned the habit from us-“

“It’s a little funny!” She sniffed “Come on, dear. We are quite literally blood-sucking demons. I’m quite shocked Florence didn’t’ pick up on the habit too.”

Beca let out a small groan before shoving the paper that Mr. Ramone had given them into her wife’s grasp. Chloe frowning down at the book suggestions that were scrawled in black ink. “I’ll meet you back at home, then? After you go get those.”

“How did I get stuck with this?”

“Simple,” Beca beamed, slinking her arms over Chloe’s shoulders with a demonic smile “For once in my eternal life I controlled myself in there, and you _didn’t._”


	2. Spring Cleaning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: For your vampire au, can you do one where they look through old photo albums together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series reall makes me want to write a whole backstory for them I'm-

**“This is totally ** unfair.” The girl griped out, her tone was dark and filled with a growled resentment, but Beca paid no mind. Instead, she shoved the broom and dustpan into her daughter's hand without a second thought- if not a cocky smile. “You know, Kelley asked me to go to the mall with her today. I could be there.” 

Beca snorted “You could be a lot of places, little fox, but instead you’re here, suffering with the rest of us.” 

She reached above her head skillfully and wrapped the cord to the attic around her palm before giving it a good yank. The stairs lowered and the thick scent of dust filled her lungs to the point of causing a scowl much as her older daughter carried. Though, Florence didn’t’ seem to be bothered by anything other than the childish nickname from her childhood. 

Chloe had insisted that this Sunday was reserved for spring cleaning, even though winter had barely broken for the year through a thick dusting of snow was already on the ground. It made the air in the attic feel stale and cold as it drifted through the boxes of old junk that was sure to be donated to a charity by the end of the days light. 

Her wife and younger daughter had taken the garage and they were assigned the attic. 

Beca took a step back and lifted her chin towards the ladder. Florence was in a stalemate with her for a few moments before letting out a groan and shoving the broom back into her mothers’ hand.  _ Was I this bad when I was fourteen?  _ Beca couldn’t’ remember, it was a long time ago and she had done far worse things than catch an attitude. 

Florence was the spitting image of Beca, with long brown hair thrown into a messy bun and a slender frame. She had delicate features that she had outlined in black makeup for a year or two before deciding it didn’t fit her. Most of the time her temperament matched that of Chloe- except for days like this. Days when chores were the main focus and the two of them would be cooped up in an attic when she could be somewhere else. 

“God, you guys are hoarders!” She heard her call down. 

She rolled her eyes and skillfully climbed into the attic with the broom in one hand. She hated to admit that Florence was right- but the sheer space of the upper room in the house was filled with box upon box labeled with different years and staggered bins that had Christmas lights. 

Beca walked to the far end of the attic and pulled the blinds, the sunlight coating against every far end. She struggled to cough against the particles, setting the broom aside. “Okay, so if you start in one corner, I’ll take the other” 

“Can’t we just shuffle them around a bit and tell mom that we donated half of this?” 

“dear, I’ve learned long ago that it’s best to do what your mother asks.” 

Florence let out a groan but shuffled over to the first box and ripped off the masking tape in one fluid movement. She started rooting through it and Beca watched her for a few moments before shaking her head and tackling her own box. It was the year 2005. Filled with documents that they needed. It was the year they bought the house they were standing in now- though, they had to get crafty back then. 

It was a Victorian nightmare that had been left at the end of a suburban street to rot into nothingness. But Chloe saw potential in it and had beamed when they signed the final papers, claiming both to be a little over twenty at the time. The realtor had no questions, and neither did their neighbors when they spent from dawn until twilight fixing up the old home. 

Beca smiled as she reached and pulled out an old polaroid. It had some light damage to it, but it was all the same, visible. Chloe sat on the edge of a hospital bed. Florence in her arms, the girl wrapped tiny fingers around Chloe’s as he held her close. It was the day they had brought her home from the hospital. Beca remembers the flash made Florence cry and it was the first moment of panic she had. But once she held her, she knew it was nothing. Knew that she was theirs forever. 

“you never tell me about my surrogate mother.” She said suddenly. Beca frowned and glanced up at her. “Not that I’ve ever asked but… I look so much like you so I figured you guys were family or something.” 

“I uh-“Beca was taken aback. She shook the photo in her hand, letting it touch the opposite fingertips. “Her name is Christina. She’s a very distant cousin.” 

Tracking the woman down had been a struggle in it’s own right. She had married, divorced, then remarried before Chloe and Beca could even get a hold of her. She was more than willing to become a surrogate- even if it did come at an insane price. She was hard out for cash, had practically begged for it in exchange for carrying Florence. They debated long before Chloe relented and they drew up a contract. One that included Christina not contacting them unless contacted first. 

Beca knew she would ask one day. 

“What was she like?” Florence ran her fingers over a dusty box, leaving long marks against its surface. 

Beca turned to face her daughter with a slight heave of her breath. This was a conversation she envisioned sitting with Chloe right next to her. She always knew the right thing to say, always had a way to make things sound less terrifying and more like they fit in a perfect puzzle. 

“Christina was passionate. Is passionate.” Beca said, trying to highlight her good qualities. “She never wants to stay in one place for too long, didn’t like being tied down. It took a lot of her to stay in town for the nine months that she was getting ready to have you. You sure got her spit-fire attitude though. I think it runs in the Mitchell family.” 

Florence snorted out a laugh and shook her head. “Do you know where she is now?” 

“Not a clue… She wrote postcards for the first couple of months. Brazil, Russia- everywhere in between. But after awhile it stopped completely.” Beca shook the polaroid in the air, taking a step to her daughter. “If it means a lot to you, we can always look for her. Find her.” 

“No,” She grasped the picture, staring at Chloe’s beaming smile as she stared down at a young her. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. If that’s okay?” 

“of course, it’s okay.” Beca had a half-grin on her face, leaning forward as she pushed a kiss against her daughter’s temple. 

“Gross, mom” She shoved her away with an eye-roll before turning away and digging back into the box in question. The conversation dropped for now. Beca felt a weight lift from her chest as she filed the photo back where it was according to Chloe’s intricate system. “Hey, what’s in here?” 

Beca glanced back around at her daughter, who had moved onto a box from the 1930s. She was holding up a cookie tin that was almost rusted shut but still worked to separate the two halves. Beca’s eyes widened. 

“Oh my god.” Florance’s breath caught. “Is  _ this  _ mom?” 

Beca snatched the tin from her daughter and sealed both sides quickly, heat rising to her cheeks. “It was a different time.” She scrambled, dropping it into another box. “Lets just… move some stuff around and pretend we did something worthwhile.” 


	3. Lickfinger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do another vampire family thing where Delia says something she picked up from Beca?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, this is really bad, I'm sorry

**Gentle arms wrapped **around Beca Mitchell’s mid-section. Cool and dominating as the scent of lavender clouded her lungs. She smiled softly and continued to stir the pasta that was resting in barely boiled water.

“I didn’t’ hear you come in,” She said.

“Mm,” Chloe hummed in response, pressing her lips tentatively against her wife’s pulse point in an act of comfort. “Neither did the cavalry.”

Beca bit back a snort. Usually when Chloe wandered in front a shift at the hospital little feet would skid across the wooden floors as Delia would struggle in her socked feet. Even Florence would pull herself away from the television and lend a hug. But tonight, all three of the girls had been distracted with something more.

Their oldest had her industrial-sized headphones over her ears, and the latter of the two sat at the kitchen table with her latest homework in front of her- tongue peeking from the corner of her lip in innate focus. She was frowning at a word problem.

Chloe reached around and dipped her fingers into the steaming marinara sauce, not even flinching at the heat. Beca fought the urge to bat her away- the roles usually reversed when Chloe decided to make brownies. She would have to shove Beca back from taking the whisk and dragging her tongue against it. So, she decided to silently let her wife have this one.

“Goodness,” A tiny exasperated sigh came from the kitchen table. Their daughter had properly tapped the pink eraser against the surface enough to create a beat. She was frowning at the paper in front of her, Chloe standing up straight.

Math was not Delia’s strong suit, and word problems were even less so. She had trouble associating numbers with their actual value. That’s part of the reason Beca had her in the kitchen while she prepared dinner in the first place. She would assist her between stirring the noodles.

“What’s wrong monkey?” Chloe asked, pulling away from Beca and walking to the table.

“I just don’t get it- This girl, Katie, has twenty chocolate bars and she gave away ten.” She huffed.

Beca lifted a brow and turned back to cooking, subtly listening to her daughter explain the last problem to Chloe. Who hummed along each time she could get a chance. Delia took in a long breath after she finished the problem. 

“Oh, I see.” Chloe furrowed her brow before standing and glancing back. “Do we still have those chocolate chips?”

“Mm, bottom cabinet.” Beca didn’t look up from her task. Instead, she pulled open the compartment and pointed to the golden yellow bag clipped and rolled. Chloe grabbed them and sat in the chair next to Delia, who eyed the treat- mouth nearly watering.

She dumped a good amount onto the table “Okay, so how many candy bars did she have?”

“Twenty.”

“So, let’s count out twenty.”

Beca couldn’t help but smile at the way her wife separated the chocolate chips in a way that Delia could understand. A little reward for focusing so hard on the problems at hand. She often figured that’s why her wife was a doctor and she was bound to the recording booth. 

“Now, take away ten chocolate chips.”

“I can eat them?” She had hope glittering in her eyes.

“Not quite yet, Monkey.” Chloe smiled “You said her friend gave her five of the chocolate bars back?”

Delia nodded, staring intensely at the scene in front of her before she slowly moved five of them back in with the pile. “Oh,” She whispered.

“How many does Katie have now?”

Their daughter whispered softly as she counted each chocolate chip that was in the new pile in front of her, tapping each one as she went. “Fifteen!”

“Yes!” Chloe cheered “Good job, you can eat them now if you want”

She didn’t have to be instructed twice, shoving about ten into her mouth before Chloe could take another breath. She picked up the pencil and filled in the final spot on the paper. Delia chomped a few times “Thanks mom, I never would have gotten that- Cassie got it right away, but that’s because she’s a lickfinger.”

Beca choked- the air in her throat getting caught almost instantly. In a slow sequence, dinner suddenly became more interesting than the conversation happening at the kitchen table. Her stirring picked up once more.

She could feel the silence like a weight.

Lickfinger- of course, her kid would pick up on that. Something of a Victorian swear word. Every part of her figured that Delia couldn’t’ hear her on the phone earlier in the night, not past the storm doors that were shut. Not with the television on medium and her homework right in front of her. But Chloe’s eyes were blaring into the side of her face.

She glanced up sheepishly as Delia shoved a couple more chocolate chips into her mouth and kicked her feet back and forth innocently.

“Honey, don’t say that word,” Chloe said sternly. “Where ever did you learn that?”

“Mom said it on the phone when she was talking to Aunt Bree.”

“oh? Did she now?”

That glare was back, and Beca wanted to hide under a rock. She knew kids picked up on little things like that- hell, she had gotten through raising Florence without incident. But Delia was like double-sided tape- everything stuck, even if you didn’t want it to.

“Sweetie, why don’t you go wash your hands before dinner?”

It wasn’t a suggestion, the dark tone in Chloe’s voice gave that away in a moment notice. Delia pushed back her chair and took off towards the nearest bathroom. Leaving the two of them together.

“I didn’t call her a lickfinger.” Beca defended immediately, Chloe standing to put the chocolate chips back in the lower cabinet. She shut it and leaned with the small of her back against the counter. Her arms crossed over her chest. “Aubrey was venting about her the partner of her law firm and I was just trying to make her feel better. Besides, no one will know what it even means.”

“Fair point,” Chloe sounded out “I still don’t want her saying it. Pub slang from the industrial age is no way for our little girl to speak.”

“Completely fair.” Beca agreed “I promise, no more Victorian slang.” 

Chloe huffed and dipped her finger back into the pasta sauce. This time getting batted away in a spit-second. “Get your hands out of the pot.”

“God,” Chloe cleaned off the red sauce on her touch “You’re such a lickfinger” 


	4. No Use In Apologizing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: What if you write a story where Florence gets in a fight and her badass moms have to come in and save the day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you accept one badass mom?

**Chloe could smell **the blood. It took its icy fingers and wormed them against the inside of her lungs with each breath she gulped down. It was dominating and controlling- and it shouted loudly over the scent of warm paper and fresh toner. She could feel her jaw ache.

The school was empty; children nestled in their classrooms with the occasional student dashing down the hall, clenching a wooden pass with the same vigor Chloe wished she possessed when it came to her anger. She walked following the receptionist, a few paces behind and hands shoved into her pockets.

“We tried getting a hold of Beca,” The woman said as they walked.

She was stout, her hair chopped short and styled to its best efforts. She wore a pencil skirt that swished with each step and Chloe couldn’t help but notice the scent of stale perfume and sweat. There were fake pearls clasped around her neck, those too adding to the sound of their journey.

“She’s out of town, I’m afraid.”

Chloe tried to hide the annoyance from her voice but it came out as tight and snipped instead of relaxed. She had a knack for fibbing her way through the worst of circumstances- but most of her control evaporated when it came to the administration in the high school. For all she was concerned, they had no idea what they were doing; no idea that Chloe was the first emergency contact they were supposed to call for things like this.

“Yes, well, she usually responds the quickest and by all means, this situation needs a speedy resolution.”

Chloe took a larger step in front of the woman, not a difficult task. She blocked her path, stared down at her with an intense gaze that would crack even the strongest glass. “Pray tell, what is the situation? You were vague on the telephone.”

That scent- that annoyingly toxic scent was still toying at the back of her mind. It made her irritable, made her skin prickle uncomfortably. She felt as if she had jumped head-first into an iced-over pool. She would skip the slow numbness and head straight for the painful tingle of bloodlust or fear.

The woman pulled in an even breath before doing the same to her shoulders. “Florence got into a fight.”

She braced herself for a reaction, a movement from the concerned mother. She had seen her fair share of yelling and frustration and shock. But Chloe didn’t budge. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw seemed to flex under the pressure of the statement.

“Is she hurt?”

She knew the answer. Could _smell _the answer as it called to her like a beacon.

Chloe didn’t’ wait for the receptionist to stumble out an answer. She turned and walked towards an office she had become mighty familiar with- despite the lack of calls she had received. The super intendant reveled in a large mahogany door and extravagant personal library. Books untouched and feeling of leather.

There were four chairs lined up against the far end of the hallway, She had seen them filled a couple of times during PTA meetings. Kids that radiated the pungent smell of weed as they scrolled through their phones and slumped even further into themselves.

Florence sat with her arms over her chest, legs lanky as one stretched in front of her, the other tucked under the chair. Her hair fell over the side of her face, jaw clenched as she drew in a breath at the sound of footsteps, heart pounding against the inside of her wrist like a snare drum.

Chloe knelt down in front of her daughter, breathing in the metallic scent that made her stomach turn. An odd pressure that was a mix of anger and concern took home in the back of her throat. A large purple bruise danced against the bottom of Florence’s left eye, dark brown that she had tried to smear off clouded her lips. She had a towel in her fingers, soaked through to its own extent.

She placed a cool hand gently under her daughters chin, guiding her stare until she could get a better view of the damage. “Oh, Sweetie.”

“I thought they called mom,” She whispered.

“You’re lucky they didn’t.” Chloe ran her touch down the girl's arm gently. She had been crying, stare red and throat raw. “What happened?”

“She had to be pulled away from class after instigating a fight with Jason Maris.”

The name sounded familiar to Chloe, not something she had passed on a daily basis like salt at the dinner table. They were on the same soccer team and Beca had mentioned something about the boy’s parents being as insufferable as him. She didn’t see the blonde-haired kid sitting in the seats, but she heard the rush of explanations through the wooden door.

_I swear I didn’t do anything. She came at me. She’s crazy. _

Chloe straightened herself to a stand once more as her daughter buried her purple stare behind her bangs and slumped further into uncomfortable plastic. She had to keep her calm, had to ignore the way Jason scrambled to lick his own wounds. She hoped for a moment that they were deep.

“Florence, get your things.” She said steadily “We’re going home.”

The woman that had led her down the stretching corridor moved defiantly to block her path. It was a surge of bravery that she hadn’t expected. The short receptionist was turning three shades of red as the color flushed her cheeks.

Chloe lifted her brow and Florence scrambled to stand up. She pulled her backpack over her shoulder and watched the interaction like a deer caught in headlights. She wanted to call to whatever higher power there was that her mom would step through the hallway doors and defuse the situation.

But Beca was traveling, and her mother, who dressed in power suits and vibrant blouses, was here instead. Chloe was scary, and no one dared question her authority. Delia would lick the vegetables off of her plate if it meant escaping a pointed stare.

“The Super Intendant wants to speak with both of you first.” The woman stammered, still shifting gradients.

“The man can wait. He’s got quite the bias as it is, being of the same sex. Therefore, I am going to take my daughter, we are going to get into my car, and we are going to go home. If Super Intendant Ross has a problem with that, he can certainly take it up with me.”

Chloe let out a long breath and continued to stare the receptionist down. It wasn’t long before she glanced sparingly at the door and took the slightest step to the side. She averted her stare as Chloe pulled her shoulders back and continued to walk the exact path that they had taken to get here.

Florence scrambled out an apology before following a few paces behind. She clutched the leather strap of her bag like a vice. It kept her afloat in a sea of confusion, and admiration. It wasn’t often that her mother would raise her tone with people.

“You shouldn’t have to apologize.” Chloe held the door open.

It had been raining but stopped a few moments ago. The air was sticky and smelled musty like their attic. Heat was radiating from glossy asphalt and the only sign that it had rained in the first place was the droplets catching sunlight on the cars.

“You scared Miss McKenzie half to death, she would have wet her pants right there if it weren’t for some kindness.”

“Not to her, though, I am sure she won’t want to deal with me ever again.” Chloe frowned as they reached the car. “I meant to that boy. Ross would have had you do just that and there’s nothing you should apologize for.”

“I didn’t even tell you what happened.”

Chloe let out a small sigh and cupped her daughter's face, her touch was gentle and cool against the throbbing heat of the slowly spreading bruise. She winced but then relaxed into the motherly embrace. “You don’t have to, Flo. You’re a good kid and you stood up for yourself. And you shouldn’t have to apologize for not having an opinion, or having the right to fight for it.”

Florence smiled, and it lit up her entire face. She looked like Beca then, the Beca that Chloe knew before the blood, and the sickness, and the pain that ravaged through the world. Before she had to do what she did, even if she was thankful for it now. Florence looked happy and loved- even if it was with a black eye.

“Can we get ice cream?” She asked, earning a pointed stare “Maybe?”

Chloe relented, dropping her shoulders and unlocking her car with a chirp. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t tell your mom.”


End file.
